Joffrey finally realized what was happening. The moment he understood that Karl had actually insulted him—him, the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms—his entire face twisted with rage. His pride, already swollen beyond reason, immediately exploded.
Without thinking, he lifted his riding crop and lashed it across Karl's face.
But the strike was weak—pathetically weak. Not even enough wind gathered behind it to be worth dodging. Karl didn't step back. He didn't even blink. Instead, he looked at Joffrey with a smile full of implication, the kind of smile that only made the prince's fury burn hotter.
Karl raised his hand casually, almost lazily, and caught the whip in midair.
The movement was light, slow, and elegant—like a spring breeze brushing past an unmoving boulder, rippling the surface of a calm lake.
Then Karl tilted his head, squinted slightly, and crouched down so he was eye-level with Joffrey.
"Look," he said with a soft chuckle, "our prince is furious."
His tone was gentle, almost soothing—yet every word was razor-sharp.
"But I suggest you go back and ask your mother who your father really is."
Joffrey froze.
Karl continued, his voice still calm, polite, almost friendly.
"And don't worry—you don't need to thank me for eliminating at least one wrong answer for you."
As he spoke, Karl tilted his head toward the massive bison lying nearby, its enormous body drained of blood, its severed neck still dripping onto the grass.
Joffrey had insulted him repeatedly, yet Karl showed no anger. On the contrary, he spoke with all the patience of a teacher kindly offering life advice to a hopeless student.
But to Joffrey—already unstable and prone to tantrums like his mother—Karl's calmness was gasoline poured straight onto an open flame.
He looked at Karl's hand gripping the whip. His breath faltered. His mind blanked.
Then, realizing Karl had actually resisted him, his entire face went scarlet.
"What…!?"
His voice cracked.
"You… you dared to resist me!?"
"You bastard! Bastard!"
"I'll have your teeth ripped out one by one and shoved into your bones!"
Joffrey's shrill, cracking voice echoed along the riverbank. His eyes bulged, red and bloodshot. Spittle flew from his lips as he screamed like a child denied candy.
"I won't let you die easily!" he screeched. "I'll make you remember what price you pay when you insult a prince!"
Failing to pull the whip free from Karl's grasp, Joffrey finally gave up and threw it away in humiliation.
He reached for the ornate short sword at his waist—Lion's Fang.
He grabbed the hilt with trembling hands.
"But before that," he hissed, "I'll cut off your hands. Then I'll carve the flesh off your legs until only the bones remain!"
"I will make you repent for your foolish actions!"
He raised the sword and lunged forward, aiming straight for Karl's chest.
Karl didn't move.
He didn't even raise an eyebrow.
He simply smiled faintly.
Just before the blade reached him, he lifted his left hand—
—and slapped.
SMACK!
A sharp, explosive sound rang out across the banks of the Trident River.
It was a clean, crisp sound—so crisp that it drowned out even the soft whirl of the river's current. For a moment, it felt as if the entire world paused, listening to the echo of that single slap.
And then—
Clang.
Lion's Fang slipped from Joffrey's numb fingers and fell onto the grass.
"Heh…" Karl exhaled softly as he watched Joffrey spiral through the air like a rag doll.
The prince spun twice before crashing down—face-first—onto the belly of the dead bison.
Karl stepped forward and casually nudged the golden short sword aside with his boot, as if it were a bothersome twig.
Joffrey, who just moments ago had been preparing to inflict "broad-minded generosity" on Karl with that very sword, suddenly found the world tilting. Lights flashed across his vision. His ears rang.
When his senses finally returned, he was lying sprawled atop the huge corpse. At such close range, he finally saw clearly what the beast was.
A true bison.
Its massive horns curled like crescents, its eyes lifeless and empty, its throat sliced through cleanly, its enormous body completely drained of blood.
So this… is what a bison looks like…
The thought drifted lazily through his mind.
But then the buzzing in his head grew louder. His thoughts grew muddy, then far away, as if sinking underwater.
His consciousness slipped.
His limbs felt heavy—too heavy to move.
All he wanted was to close his eyes and rest.
Just sleep…
Just—
A voice. Deep. Mocking. Familiar.
"Hey, little prince?"
"How are you doing?"
Karl's voice floated into his ears.
Joffrey didn't respond. Not because he didn't want to—he simply couldn't. He opened his mouth slightly and let out a faint groan, more instinct than thought.
His pupils had dilated. His eyes stared unfocused at the sky.
Then the blood came.
Thin streams of frothy red liquid seeped from his nostrils, ears, and the corners of his eyes. His mouth opened uncontrollably, blood bubbling at the edge of his lips. His entire body began to twitch in Karl's arms.
Then his lower body gave way… and he lost control of his bladder.
Karl stared at him, stunned.
"…Oh hell. That's not good."
He hurried forward, scooping Joffrey up from atop the bison.
The prince's pupils trembled and expanded. His throat rattled with a gurgling sound, struggling for air as blood stagnated in his lungs.
Karl grimaced.
He knew exactly what had happened.
"I told you people should be more civilized," he muttered helplessly. "Why do you have to be so foul-mouthed?!"
He cradled the prince carefully, looking down at his barely breathing face.
The boy was on death's door.
One slap—just one—and this future "Emperor of the Ages" was already halfway to meeting his great-grandmother.
Karl sighed heavily.
"Seriously… why are you so easy to break?"
He extended his hand.
A faint fluorescent green light glimmered at his fingertips—soft, warm, and full of healing power.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)